


Soliloquy

by lygrim



Series: Idiomatic [1]
Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, F/M, I swear there's more to this, I'm just bad at tagging that's all, Masturbation, Plot With Porn, Praise Kink, Self-Fisting, Tentacles, Unwanted Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lygrim/pseuds/lygrim
Summary: Soliloquy: (noun) The act of talking to oneself.Megamind has gotten good at taking care of himself. After all, no one else is going to. And if he likes to talk to himself while he does, that's not really anyone's business, is it?The problem with soliloquys is that you're the only one to blame when the conversation goes wrong.





	Soliloquy

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhhhhhh first published fic!!! I'm so excited!! I've had this story idea for about two months now, and it's finally finished!! 
> 
> If you have thoughts or comments, I'd love to read them!
> 
> Okay, read on! Enjoy!

Twin slams echoed in cavernous space. Minion emerged from the car, a monolith of irritation still bristling with adrenaline.

Megamind spilled from the vehicle, a well of spiking energy, discomfiture and seething _desperation_.

“Well, that went just _perfectly_ , didn’t it Sir? Wait! Sir, where are you going?!”

He’d have to apologize to Minion later. His legs were carrying him away, the beating of his heels syncopated with the rushing in his ears. Each heartbeat was a pinch in his skull, the pressure behind his eyes and in his forehead and in spidery prickles down his nape. He could feel the heat of it, forged in his heart, his lungs and his groin.

Nevermind that once again his instruments of mayhem had failed spectacularly. Nevermind that they had just barely escaped from a near-prison experience. Although that would’ve been awful; having to deal with the frustrating bureaucracy and smug triumph of prison administration (not to mention the stoic disapproval of the Warden) on top of feeling like he was going to buckle and jam his hands into his leathers at any moment would have been agonizing.

The thought of being at the mercy of the criminal justice system when he was in this state sent a icy trickle down his spine, but even that degrading thought was not enough to slow him down.

 

He bounced off a wall and scattered a swarm of concerned brainbots, scrabbling for the familiar warning signs and blue paint of his bedroom door. He was drowning in air, in the constricting squeeze of his leathers and his anticipation, the need to fill the silence _,_ fill himself--

He burst into the sanctity of his private space, washed in undulating aqua light as he shocked the sensors awake. He barked out commands while he locked down the door and clawed at his mantel. The lights dimmed and twinkled faintly in the walls like stars underwater; hidden stereos hushed out light instrumentals in a supplicant fog as his mania peaked.

He tore his cape and gloves away seconds before he crash landed in his nest of pillows and blankets, fingers trembling, barely adroit enough to manage the fastenings on his pants. He let out a hoarse sob as he spilled out of himself and into his own hand, curving his entire body into the feeling until he was a shuddering ball. He moaned at the throbbing of his tentacles; painful, electrifying jolts that nonetheless made him shiver. For fifteen agonizing minutes he had been trapped in a speeding car, squirming as his insides slowly fucked themselves and dripped into his leathers. He clenched his eyes shut at the dirtiness of that thought.

His tentacles slid through his hand,  two of them squeezing, wrapping around his palm and wrist. He took hold of the third and keened, milking himself from base to tip once in a movement that never failed to run tendrils of cold heat down his spine.

“You’re so good,” he groaned to himself. “Gods, you’re so good, and so needy, aren’t you?” He panted as he knotted his fingers into a tangle with his tentacles, stroked and then tugged, dragging heated, animal little sounds out himself. “You sound so hot,” he moaned, rolling onto his knees, grinding his forehead into a pillow as his hips moved against his hand in waves.

“It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it?” He snarled. “Fuck, I feel like liquid _fire._ I can’t remember the last time I needed it this badly.” He squeezed himself, grasping and spilling through and around and in his fingers. He gritted his teeth when his mind fizzled and misfired, producing nonsense impressions of mass expanding and compressing infinitely, and vacillating bursts of black and grey behind his eyelids. “Radio static,” He moaned raggedly, wriggling his fingers and letting his hips jerk of their own accord. “Your brain is malfunctioning, incapacitated by pleasure. Your intellect is useless. No matter what you do, you’re just another animal when you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” He choked, stomach clenching in pleasure.

His breath caught in his chest for one brittle moment as wet flame bit through him before he screamed, his release torrenting out of him and soaking his bedding.

Before his first orgasm had even ebbed he was jamming himself back against the rim of his nest, fingers and tentacles coated a glossy translucent purple. He looked down at himself and licked his lips. It occurred to him that if anyone could see him right now, they’d see Public  Enemy Number One as a desperate slut; too impatient to even get out of his clothes before falling apart. The Scourge of Metrocity, covered in cum and dripping more onto his stomach. Suddenly he wants to see that very badly.

“Vanity,” he can hear the roughness in his voice, it turns him on-- “Vanity, come here.”

His mobile monitor-mirror lights up at his command and clicks out of its docking station on the wall, hovering over to reveal him to his own wanting gaze.

He’s everything he expected to see and more. He exhales in a breathless laugh at himself.

His ear tips and cheeks are flushed purple pink. His stomach is a wave of movement, breaths and smooth muscle spasms.  He twitches as his gaze flits to his sex, waving indolently at himself and tinged an obscene lilac. He wraps his lower lip in his teeth and hums, squeezing, coaxing himself leisurely back into frenzy.

He’s not sure exactly what set him off so badly, what’s given him this-- this unrelenting itch to take care of himself, but he is far from complaining. Megamind knows exactly what to say and how to touch to indulge himself and enjoy this rare fit of desperation.

He watches himself in the mirror while he runs a hand up his chest, jumpsuit parting with a whisper before his fingers. His hips give an involuntary little jerk into his other hand as he teases himself, running a finger lightly over his collar bone, inching up the base of his neck. He squirms around his other hand, around the fingers brushing the nodules at the base of his tentacles, flirting with the place where they meet and disappear inside himself. He swallows hard as a thought occurs to him, staring himself down in the mirror. If he were to just bring his legs up high enough, he could probably fit his hand inside himself up to the knuckles…

He groans and lets himself go, lets his hand sweep up his neck and over the back of his skull in a movement that sent shimmers of color over his vision. Fluid gushed out of him, soaking his fingers as he pressed inside, sinking in three fingers at once, inch by hungry inch.

“God, what I wouldn’t give for someone else to do this for me,” he growled as his shoulder and wrist strained. His tentacles and insides rippled at the thought, enticing and improbable as always. He sunk in to his knuckles, as far as he could go. The stretch was amazing, but he wanted more, wanted-- “Want someone to come put their hand inside me,” he gasped, panting and turning his head from the mirror finally, closing his eyes to his fingers running over his brow, his temples, his cheeks, his lips. They could sink into him up past their wrist, if they had small hands. A woman, maybe, with delicate fingers and soft hands and a slender wrist for his tentacles to wrap around--

He moaned, sweeping one hand over his crown and thrusting against the other, trying to drive deeper it inside, his tentacles squeezing his arm firmly, god that was hot there was no way she wouldn’t like that, oh god he would cum like this, just like this all over her hand and wrist, that would be so dirty and so hot and fffffffffuck he could hear her voice in his mind like the chiming of bells, wanting to taste him.

He felt his pleasure cresting, felt it coming to overwhelm him, felt her fingers and saw the pink of her lips glazed with lilac--

“Please, yes, please just--”

“-- has been defeated once again by Metro Man but evaded capture.”

He let out a startled shout, eyes flying wide as a bright, familiar voice filled his room.

Roxanne Ritchi was standing before him, and terror gripped him so fiercely his heart burned, until he realized that it was just her visage, projected in light across Vanity’s face in life size. Vanity had picked up on a live feed from KMCP that had been flagged by his algorithms, and interpreted his vocalizations as permission to start the feed.

Leaving Megamind exposed, breathless and two seconds from coming in front of his (fully-clothed, professionally authoritative, high-resolution) chronic captive.

He shuddered, grimacing, shocked and wanting and destroyed by his own need to monitor the news for coverage about himself and other things relevant to his interests. He opened his mouth to tell Vanity to stop, when she continued.

“While his plan failed, Megamind’s latest invention was an ingenious piece of engineering and masterful planning, and his escape has caused speculation to start circulating on social media. On commenter’s statement provides a clear and chilling assessment of today’s events: ‘Once again, the citizens of Metro City are fortunate to have a defender as great as his nemesis, otherwise this city would have fallen into Megamind’s hands long ago.’ This correspondent can only agree.”

Megamind stared at the feed, mouth open. Ms. Ritchi had… actually _complimented_ his work. On live television! She had been impressed with his invention, even though it had failed.

Someone had inferred he was great, and she had _agreed_.

He clenched his fingers in his tentacles, tense and wanting. His eyes were too wet, _he_ was too wet, too hard and tight and sensitive and staring at her, like a one way mirror, she didn’t know he was looking at her this way, couldn’t see him as he was right now--

And then her eyes shifted, and she was staring right into him, her eyes glinting with playful defiance. He couldn’t breathe; time slowed to a crawl as her lips parted. He waited, balanced on a knife’s edge to hear what this impossible woman had to say.

“But if you happen to be listening, Megamind, know this; whatever you have in store for us, we know you’re coming. And we’re ready for you.”

Slender fingers with understated french tips wrapped around him instead of a microphone.

His lilac on her lips, smudged over a distinctive beauty mark.

Her voice in his ear. _I know you’re coming. I’m ready for you._

 

He didn’t even scream. He exploded. He stopped existing. The one-hundred and twenty three pounds of flesh and bone and brain that was Megamind became a singular mass of pulsating sound and energy, stripped of name and reason and meaning, driven to one final understanding as it hung suspended in discordant ecstacy.

Eventually, as it always does, the good thing ended. He was caught again by the well of gravity and anxiety and constant involuntary twitches.

He lay there in the chasm of his soaked bedding, staring at himself in Vanity’s mirrored gaze, and that final understanding solidified into dread.

He had come with Roxanne’s voice in his head and the fantasy of her touch on his skin.

He wanted to do it again. He wanted to come again. With her hand on his flesh, and his name on her lips. Here. With him.

He wanted her. Impossibly, horribly, he wanted her.

“No,” he croaked. “Please, don’t do this. Not like this.”

His room stared back with countless cold, twinkling eyes. He felt the contempt radiating from each and every one.

Vanity hung over him, merciless. He laid there and watched himself, frozen and helpless, and wished in vain that his tears would blurr his eyes and spare him the heartbreak of seeing his own face.

Many hours later, around the time the sun would begin to dream of rising, around the fourth time he miserably replayed each and every second of yesterday’s plot in his brain, he would figure out had made him so desperate and needing.  

He realized that the first tentative feelings of warmth had started seconds before Metro Man had ruined everything. It had been Ms. Ritchi. Of course it had been Ms. Ritchi.

He realized he’d been lost twenty-six minutes and thirty-seven seconds before he’d crash landed in his room.

She had destroyed him, just by laughing. Laughing at something he’d said, but not with derision for once. She had turned her grin at him, and said “That was very clever of you.”

She had broken him with six words and a smile.

\-----------

Minion found him in the morning in the kitchen, smelling of sex and whiskey, curled up by the oven with a bottle of Jack Daniels that had NOT been in the Lair the day before.

“Sir, what--” his henchfish started, fins flared in distress.

His master’s eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he had been crying.

“What happened?” he finished weakly.

Sir fiddled with the bottle (only a third full, had he been drinking all night? How much alcohol did he have in him?), not looking at him. “We’re going to have to slow down on the evil plots for a while, Minion.”

Minion went cold. Every spine on his body prickled. “What’s wrong?” He asked firmly, only just on the inquiring side of a demand.

Sir went quiet again. Minion was ready to shake the answers out of him.

“I made some… unfortunate discoveries about myself last night. About what I want. And I need… I need to slow down. For a while. Just until I figure out what to do.” Sir rubbed his eyes.

Minion was still vibrating with nerves, but. At least Sir knew what was wrong, and knew what he needed. And while turning away from villainy was hugely worrisome, he was comforted that Sir seemed to have a plan. “Of course, Sir. Would you like to tell me more about it?”

“No, Minion. Not yet.” Megamind glanced at the bottle indifferently. Minion held out his hand. The bottle was relinquished without protest. Sir stood, wobbled, leaned on the counter.

“Very well. Would you like me to make you something to eat, Sir? Having something in your stomach will help. If we weren’t taking a break, I’d suggest paying Ms. Ritchi a call. That always brightens your spirits.”

Sir stilled, an expression of bitterness, contempt and pain surprising and scaring Minion again. Things were _much_ worse than Sir had made it seem. Minion was going to have to have words with the brainbots.

“No, Mignon. I’m not hungry.” Sir said quietly, shuffling around him and out of the kitchen. “As for Ms. Ritchi, we’re cutting her out of the plots for the time being.”

Minion’s jaw dropped and he choked on an air bubble. “But Sir we can’t possibly--!’

“You’re going to have to just trust me and take orders on this one, Mignon.” Sir looked back over his shoulder, and he looked so desolate and sad that there was nothing for the fish to do but say “Yes Sir, of course, Sir.”

Minion watched him go, watched him amble down the hallway towards his room like he was death warmed over.

He frowned and ground his fangs, and sent a command to the brainbots to come to him for a briefing.

He had a terrible feeling. Sir’s blood was in the water, and he wouldn’t say why he was bleeding. All Minion could do was circle the wagons and settle in for what was promising to be some very long months.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhhh! Thanks for reading!   
> If you liked that please stay tuned, as this will be part of a series. I promise it doesn't end like this. 
> 
> If you'd like, you can find me on tumblr at https://lygrim.tumblr.com/


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